Sleepyhead
by GhostGenocide
Summary: Kyle has a wet dream. Craig just wants to go back to sleep. Or alternatively, Kyle guilt trips his grumpy, half-asleep boyfriend into giving him a blowjob, and things get out of hand.


**AN:** Got a request for some Cryle smut involving a blowjob among a few other things and I took it and ran with it. Far. Too far. Like 9,000 words too far.

* * *

When Kyle suddenly jerks awake in the middle of the night just hours before he has to start getting ready for work, it's not because he'd had a bad dream. Rather, it had been quite the opposite.

Kyle stares up at the ceiling as he lies there in bed, panting. His body is on fire, legs tangled uncomfortably in the blanket as he tries his best to ignore the damp, rough drag of the fabric of his boxers over his erection whenever he tries to move them, but his boyfriend's dog, Ginger, is currently serving as a very much unwanted twenty-two pound Corgi-shaped space heater at his feet and is making things difficult. Next to Kyle is his boyfriend, Craig, who is fast asleep.

"Craig, are you awake?"

Craig only stirs and sighs softly in response. Kyle turns to look at him, getting an eyeful of nothing but a mess of tousled, black hair and the bare skin of Craig's back that—at least to Kyle right now—might just be the most tantalizing thing he's ever seen.

"Craig?"

It's hard to tell whether or not Craig is just ignoring him and pretending to be asleep. Craig is notorious for doing that, especially after a bad argument when Kyle tries to talk to him after crawling into bed without making up first, but Kyle doubts that's the case when the two of them haven't had a serious fight in months. Besides, Craig had stayed up late last night to finish an assignment for his early afternoon figure drawing class at the community college, so he probably is actually sleeping.

Kyle worries his lip as he watches the muscles of Craig's back shift when stirs some more, shrugging the blanket lower down his side. Kyle is hard. He's so painfully hard that he's seriously considering reaching over and shaking Craig awake to demand that he pays him some goddamn attention, or at least maybe pulling up PornHub on his phone and rubbing one out. But Craig is a light sleeper, and even with the brightness turned almost all the way down there's no doubt it'd probably still manage to bother him if he happens to turn around—and God forbid Kyle's fingers slip and unmute the volume. That'd just be embarrassing.

It's kind of hard to masturbate inconspicuously on a cramped double mattress that bounces with even the slightest movement, so Kyle ultimately decides against it. He's never been good at keeping quiet, anyway. It's not that he's got anything to hide—Kyle's not a blushing, virginal saint by any means, and Craig knows this better than anyone—but there's sort of a generally accepted and unspoken rule against jacking off to random guys on the internet while your boyfriend of nine years sleeps next to you in the bed you'd both gone half on from IKEA.

The alarm clock on the bedside table blares the time in bright red: 4:42 AM. Outside, a light, early morning drizzle has just begun. Kyle closes his eyes as he listens to it, attempting to disregard his wildly thumping heart that's rattling his rib cage. In another two hours the both of them will be waking up to start their day; Kyle getting dressed for another day at his father's law firm while Craig walks the dog and makes breakfast before most likely sneaking in a couple more hours of sleep until he has to head off to his summer class. Kyle knows he should really just try and go back to sleep, but right now it's nearly impossible for him to relax and think about anything else besides Craig's dick.

Kyle groans and buries his face in the crook of his arm while he tugs at the waistband of his boxers, lifting them to peel the wet cotton from his erection and reveling in the feeling of that alone with a quiet sigh. It feels like it's been forever since Craig's touched him last, even though it was just six nights ago that Craig had fucked him senseless in the communal laundry room of their apartment complex. For the rest of that evening, he could still feel the last of Craig's leftover cum leak out whenever he shifted a certain way. Kyle had insisted that they use a condom, but Craig hadn't given him much of a choice.

Kyle's face heats up as he remembers this. He wishes Craig's cum was still there inside of him now. He'd finger himself with it; use it as lube to slick up the dildo Kenny had gotten him as a gag gift for his birthday two years ago, the one tucked away in his bedside drawer that Craig has tried on numerous occasions to toss out. It's thicker than Craig, not quite as long, but Kyle likes to use it whenever he feels like being stretched—like now, for instance.

God, he's filthy.

"Craig," Kyle tries again, this time a bit more impatiently as he watches Craig's shoulder rise and fall with a particularly deep breath. Kyle scoots in closer to him. He can almost still smell the scent of burnt oil and smoke in Craig's hair from when he had burned dinner the other night, mingled together with his cheap Head & Shoulders shampoo. "Craig, can you hear me?" Kyle persists. Craig mumbles something incoherent under his breath. "Are you awake?"

Craig yawns. "I am now," he drawls sleepily after a long pause.

Kyle waits for Craig to wake up and finish stretching before turning around to face him, but Craig doesn't. Kyle rolls his eyes. He scoots in even closer, gluing himself to the curve of Craig's spine, his boxer-clad erection to Craig's back. "Hey," he whispers, hoping that's all he has to say.

"What?"

"I—" Kyle huffs. He already hates having to ask for sex; he's not about to spell it out. "Don't be stupid, Craig. You know what," he says, nudging his dick further into the small of Craig's back.

"I'm sleeping."

"I know, but I'm—I really need you right now." Kyle runs his hand along Craig's side, settling over his hip, and kisses his shoulder. "Come on. Turn around."

"I'm sleeping," Craig reiterates, shrugging Kyle off. He props himself up on one arm and digs around for his phone underneath his pillow. He squints at it, the screen illuminating his sleep-ridden features. "And you should be, too. You've got work in four hours, dumbass."

"Don't call me a dumbass," Kyle snaps.

"Then stop thinking with your dick."

"Oh, whatever. Don't act like you're not the one who wanted their dick sucked in the bathroom at Chili's last month," Kyle reminds him pointedly. "Just—come on. You don't even have to move, alright? Just lay on your back and let me ride you," he says while palming at Craig through his boxer briefs. What he really wants is for Craig to flip him over, spread his ass and pound him into the mattress just like he had done in his dream, but that's obviously not going to happen if Craig's flaccid dick is any indication. Kyle, however, is desperate and willing to compromise. "Or do you want me to top, maybe?"

Craig bats Kyle's hand away. "Seriously, Kyle. Stop it."

"But I'm _hard."_

"Then go jack off on your side of the bed or something."

Kyle scowls at the back of Craig's head. "You know, honestly, sometimes I don't even know why I'm still with you," he tells him venomously. It's definitely not the nicest thing he could've said right now, but Kyle has a bad habit of saying things he doesn't mean when he's upset or embarrassed, and Craig has always been dangerously skillful at pushing his buttons without even trying; usually with his paltry one and two-word answers to serious questions, but sometimes even lack thereof entirely.

Kyle rolls back over to his side of the bed with a dramatic flop, scooting as far away as he can get from his useless boyfriend while still being able to pull the covers over himself. He curls up on his side. Even with Craig managing to piss him off, Kyle's still hard as a rock, completely undeterred by Craig's shitty attitude and the fact that he doesn't have anyone to help him take care of his little problem. Kyle heaves a frustrated sigh as he accepts his circumstances and pulls his leaking erection free through the soaked slit in his boxers.

What he _should_ do, Kyle thinks as he squeezes himself at the base of his cock, eager to come, but also wanting to enjoy it and make it last, is use that dildo that Craig seems to hate so much; slather it up with the cherry-scented lube they had bought earlier that year and still haven't used and let Craig listen as he fucks himself on it, right there in bed next to him, while not making any attempt to hold back his moans and gasps so that Craig knows just how good he feels without him. That'd definitely piss Craig off for the next two weeks. Then again, maybe it wouldn't. Craig tends to be fickle with the things that bother him—what upsets him one minute might not the next—so it's always hit or miss when it comes to trying to irritate Craig on purpose. Not that Kyle would ever admit to doing that.

Rather than think about the most effective ways to spite his apathetic boyfriend, Kyle tries to recall the dream he'd prematurely woken up from. He closes his eyes and starts to jerk off. Why did he have to wake up? He'd been _so close_ to release—and he was having such a good dream, too.

The unmistakable jingle of Ginger's collar doesn't register in Kyle's mind as he touches himself, nor does the blanket shifting and being pulled down around his waist. Kyle continues to pump himself without reserve until another body is suddenly pressed up against his back. Alarmed, he tries to turn around, nearly knocking his head into Craig's nose.

"Craig?" Kyle croaks. His back goes rigid as a hand reaches around and grabs him, pushing his own hand away. "I thought—"

"Shut up," Craig says. He doesn't sound mad. A bit agitated, maybe, but definitely not mad. He squeezes his hand, eliciting a hitch in Kyle's breath. He presses his nose to Kyle's shoulder and hums. "You're really warm," he says, this time more gently.

Craig's hand feels a lot rougher against Kyle's skin than his own. It's not that Craig works a particularly demanding job that might give him calloused, cracked palms or anything like that—his part-time job as an assistant to South Park's only wedding photographer is hardly what Kyle would even consider as actual _work_ —but there's just something in the way that Craig handles him. Craig is always either too gentle or too forceful with his touches, one or the other, with hardly much of an in-between; gentle, as if he's cradling a small, fragile animal; or forceful, not in a malicious or abusive way, but more so like he's never actually touched another human being before and only has a childlike concept of the notion of being mindful to the fact that some people might bruise easier than others. Kyle's always liked that about Craig, though; the unabashed honesty in his touches and how he never holds back, even if Kyle sometimes _does_ feel like he's being manhandled.

Kyle shudders as Craig's thumb swipes over the head of his dripping cock, smearing the additional gobs of pre-cum of that had started to bead at the tip. He feels Craig hesitate behind him for a moment, letting go of his dick that's already hot and sticky with release. "You came already?"

"No. That's—" Kyle swallows thickly. He wants Craig's hand back. "I woke up before I—you know. That's just—"

"There's a lot," Craig says, factually, in that monotone voice of his, but it makes Kyle's spine tingle nonetheless. "What were you dreaming about?"

"You f-fucking me," Kyle stammers, breathless. "You had me—we were in my office. On my desk. You came in while I was on the phone with a client." He can feel Craig's dick twitch against his ass. "There was someone else, too, but— _fuck,_ I don't know. I couldn't tell. Kenny, maybe."

"McCormick? What the hell were you dreaming about him for?"

"I don't know!" Kyle whines, desperately angling his hips forward into nothing. He would have left out that last part if he were thinking more clearly. Their close mutual friend tends to be a bit of a sore topic for discussion sometimes. "It was just a dream! You make it sound like I actually cheated on you or something. It's not like—"

Kyle's complaining is cut short with a gasp when Craig grabs his cock. "Stop talking," he orders. Any other time, Kyle would rip Craig's head off for talking to him to like that, but right now he doesn't need to be told twice. He probably couldn't string a coherent sentence together if he wanted to. He bites his lip and turns his face into the pillow, thighs clenched as he tries not to come all over the sheets from the sudden contact.

Craig begins to work Kyle in a sort of tense silence, until the awkwardness devolves into something more comfortable when Craig decides to trade his aloofness for relaxing and burying his nose in Kyle's hair instead, occasionally mouthing at the nape of his neck. Craig's warm breath on his skin, coupled with the memories of his dream still fresh in his mind and the slick, wet sounds from Craig's steady hand on his pre-cum drenched cock, quickly becomes too much for Kyle to handle.

"I'm close. I'm so fucking close—"

"Come on," Craig urges him gently. He kisses the back of Kyle's neck and strokes him more slowly, grip tightened, practically milking him. "Come on, Kyle."

"That feels so good," Kyle moans, hips stuttering. "But I don't—I can't—"

"Come for me," Craig says, quiet and low against the shell of Kyle's ear, in what can only be described as simultaneously being the sweetest and most sultry voice Kyle has ever heard come out of his usually unimpressed boyfriend, even if he _does_ still sound a bit dull. Kyle almost feels bad for having dreamt about someone else. "I'm right here, Kyle. I've got you. Go ahead. Spill."

 _"Fuck,_ Craig, I—" Kyle tenses. This isn't how he wants to come. "No. Stop."

"Huh?"

"I said stop. Let go," Kyle commands.

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't want to dirty the sheets," Kyle lies, twisting out of Craig's hold. He immediately regrets this, the loss of Craig's large, warm hand making his dick throb with need. Even in the dark, he can still make out the blatant look of incredulousness on Craig's face.

"What do you care if the sheets get dirty?" he asks, sounding suspicious. "I'm the one who washes them."

"And I _appreciate_ that, but I'm not trying to sleep in my own cum, alright?"

"Then what do you want?"

"I want your mouth," Kyle admits without missing a beat. "Please?" he adds, feigning sheepishness when Craig just stares at him. Craig sighs sharply through his nose, like an indignant 14-year-old who'd just been asked to go shovel the driveway or wash the dishes before watching TV, but he scoots toward the foot of the bed anyway.

Kyle lies flat on his back and spreads his legs, bending the left one at the knee to give Craig ample room to get situated between his thighs. He knocks his foot into Ginger, who moves up to settle in Craig's spot on one of his pillows. Kyle tries to ignore the fact that the dog is probably staring at him while he's about to get his dick sucked. He hates being intimate with animals around, it's just weird.

"Are you alive down there?" he asks. He doesn't know how Craig can possibly breathe right now. Craig has the blanket pulled up over his head, up to Kyle's waist, and Kyle's starting to worry if maybe Craig had fallen back asleep, because it's been a nearly a full minute since he had stopped moving around but all Kyle can feel is Craig's soft, wet breath against the skin of his stomach and it's starting to drive him mad. "Craig?"

"Hold your horses. I'm the one sucking dick, here. I'll start when I'm goddamn ready to," comes Craig's muffled reply. Kyle wishes that Craig would just shut up and touch him already.

When Craig grabs him by the base of his cock and licks a long, wet stripe up his shaft, Kyle groans and drops his head back onto his pillow. The first few experimental licks are always his favorite, enough to make him hum low in his chest, and he curses under his breath when Craig dips his tongue into his dribbling slit before suckling at the tip.

Kyle's breath hitches when Craig finally takes him into his mouth; _this_ is what he'd been waiting for. His toes curl as Craig swallows him down halfway, but then immediately pulls off, as if he hadn't quite assessed the situation thoroughly, and goes back to being a tease. Kyle groans in frustration. He throws the blanket back, wanting to see what the hell the problem is, but is filled with a fresh, new surge of desire when he sees Craig, eyes closed, mouthing lazily at the head of his swollen cock. The pale moonlight pouring in through the slats of the blinds is hardly enough for Kyle to really take in and appreciate the sight, so he reaches over and flips on his bedside lamp. Craig recoils like a vampire beneath the sun. "Sorry," Kyle says, stifling a laugh. "Is that too bright?"

Craig half-glares, half-squints up at him. "What do you think?"

"It's too dark. I can't see anything."

"You don't need to see anything. Turn that shit off. I'm still half-asleep."

Kyle sighs and does as he's told, settling for the dim light of the alarm clock. Craig goes back to stroking his shaft, licking the underside near the tip, before deciding to give actually sucking it another try. He doesn't give up halfway through this time.

"Mmm. Yeah," Kyle moans as Craig sucks him in deliberate, shallow bobs, taking his time as he slowly works down toward the base. Kyle has to hold himself back from making that happen sooner. Craig is not spectacular at giving head—he's too slow, never pays enough attention to Kyle's balls, and his gag reflex tends to leave something to be desired—but Kyle will be damned if getting his dick sucked by Craig Tucker, with those hooded icy blue eyes, sharp nose, and messy, black hair, isn't one of the seven wonders of the world. Plus it's oddly endearing, in a strange sort of way, how Craig always puts his honest effort into it; like some kind of weird labor of love or something.

As he watches Craig pull off momentarily to tongue at his slit some more, Kyle thinks about all the hours they'd spent together in the backseat of his car in the school parking lot during lunch, back when they'd first gotten together and were still trying to keep their experimental relationship a secret and couldn't risk fooling around at each other's house in fear of getting caught by Kyle's overbearing mother or Craig's gossipy little sister. Sometimes they'd even skip class if they were feeling especially bold. Kyle had been especially shy the first few times they touched each other, having never seen another guy's penis up close and in person outside of the locker rooms, and on top of that, Craig was, unlike himself, uncircumcised; it was only a matter of time until Craig would say something about it in that blunt, unwavering voice of his, about how it looked weird or—even worse—unattractive. Craig never did, though. He didn't even bat an eye when Kyle, tired of speculating, had asked him outright for his opinion one afternoon while cleaning up their mess from each other's skin. Apparently Craig was far more interested in rubbing their dicks together rather than critiquing them.

"Fuck." Kyle gasps when Craig finally manages to swallow him all the way down, nose buried in coarse, red pubes. He can feel Craig's throat contracting around him, struggling. He prays to God that Craig doesn't let up too soon. "Don't stop."

"Mmm," Craig hums.

Kyle hisses, the vibrations on his cock sending a wave of pleasure up his spine. He lifts his hand to card his fingers through Craig's hair. "Right there," he says, loosely twisting his fingers into it. Craig's own free hand slides up along Kyle's side, settling at his waist, fingers splayed over his skin. Kyle would much rather have them in his ass, but his boxers leave little room for compromise. "Don't stop, please, don't— _uuhhhnn."_

Unfortunately, Craig isn't able to stay down as long as Kyle had hoped, but he makes up for it by pulling off with a wet _pop_ and jerking Kyle off into his open mouth while he catches his breath. Kyle moans and lets his hand drop from Craig's head to his shoulder, then further down to the bed, where he claws at the sheets in desperation. He's weak, right on the edge of release, and Craig's swollen lips and hot breath against the tip of his cock are what's about to send him over.

"I'm close," he warns, eyes screwed shut tight. "God, I'm so close. I'm—" He gasps. _"Fuck._ I-I'm gonna cum. I need your mouth." He thrusts his hips forward, missing Craig's mouth and sliding against his cheek instead. He whines. "I need your mouth," he says again, breathless. _"Please,_ Craig, give me— _give me your mouth."_

Craig does not deny Kyle's fervent pleas and takes Kyle back into his mouth without hesitation.

Kyle moans and writhes against the bed, head thrown back and knuckles white as he fists the sheets while a flurry of thoughts rush through his head: Craig swallowing his load; Craig with thick ropes of his cum painted across his face; _Craig begging for it._ Kyle knows there's not a snowball's chance in hell he'd ever get to experience that last one, but a boy can dream.

Kyle is brought back to reality when he feels Craig grab his hand and squeeze. He cracks his eyes open, expecting to be met with an angry, impatient glare from Craig for not only keeping him awake to suck his dick but also for taking so goddamn _long_ to come, but Craig doesn't look mad. Craig isn't even looking at him. When Craig cuts his eyes up and squeezes his hand again though, he realizes exactly what it is that Craig's trying to tell him: _Go ahead. Let go._ This alone is hotter than any scenario that Kyle could ever possibly come up with in his head, and he cums, _hard,_ in Craig's mouth. Craig swallows, squeezing out every drop and catching the last few weak spurts on his tongue.

Craig licks Kyle clean before tucking him back into his boxers and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. He climbs to his knees, wipes his mouth, and leans over Kyle's spent body to grab the bottle of water that Kyle always keeps by his side of the bed.

"Fuck. That was—" Kyle rasps, out of breath. "That was good."

"Great," Craig says, sounding as if he hadn't just gotten through shoving Kyle's cock down his throat and had listened to a two-hour PowerPoint presentation on the migration pattern of salmon instead. He takes a gulp of water, swishes it around, and spits it back into the bottle. Kyle makes a mental note to throw it out later. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Jesus, Craig. You make it sound like sucking my dick was such a chore."

 _"You woke me up."_

"Yeah, and? It's not like you've never woke _me_ up before."

"Hardly. And I don't keep bothering you about it if you tell me no," Craig tells him. "That's the difference. I don't bitch and moan about it. I just deal with it myself and move on."

"Well sorry for not being a shining fucking _beacon_ of self-restraint and virtue for once in my life, Craig!" Kyle snaps. "Maybe you should just go find someone else since I _bother_ you so much!"

"What the hell are you talking about? Who else would I possibly be with?"

"I don't know! Someone who isn't such a burden, maybe!"

"You're not—" Craig sighs and shakes his head. "I'm not doing this right now."

"You never want to do this right now," Kyle says, although he honestly doesn't know what he's even referring to. He just wants to have the last word.

Craig doesn't engage Kyle's self-recognized ridiculousness any further, choosing to sit back on his knees and adjust himself in his underwear instead. From this position Kyle can see the outline of Craig's growing erection and another bout of arousal swells in his loins as he remembers what it was that he'd originally wanted. He's suddenly very aware of how empty he is. "You're hard?"

"It'll go away in a minute."

Kyle sits up. "You don't want to—you know. Take care of it?" he asks, tugging at the waistband of Craig's plain black briefs and peeking inside. He bites his lip when he sees Craig's cock. Even only half hard, it's still enough to make Kyle's mouth water. "I bet you'd sleep better."

"It's almost six in the morning," Craig says, yawning.

"C'mon." Kyle rubs him through his underwear. "You don't want to be inside me?"

 _"I'm tired."_

"So am I," Kyle says, which is true. He's not even sure if he actually has the energy for sex anymore; all he knows is that he wants Craig's dick stuffed up his ass, wants to just lay there and squeeze around it, even if only for a little while. "At least just put the tip in?" he begs. "You don't even have to fuck me. Just let me squeeze around you for a bit. Please?"

"Kyle—"

"You're seriously going to make me have to use the dildo?"

This seems to make Craig reconsider.

"Fine," he concedes reluctantly. "Turn over."

Kyle wastes no time in tearing off his shirt and rolling onto his stomach. He'd been hoping that Craig would take him on his back so that he could watch, but he's not about to complain. This position will probably be better anyway, he thinks, as he lifts his hips to let Craig pull off his boxers; he can relax comfortably like this, close his eyes and rest his head while Craig fills him.

Kyle grins as a wave of excitement rushes through him when he feels Craig lean over him to rummage through his bedside drawer for lube. When he hears the pop of the cap, he spreads his legs in anticipation.

When Craig slides a finger into him, Kyle sighs contentedly. One finger soon turns to two, and two turns to an attempt at three, but Kyle clenches before Craig can add a third. He doesn't want to be stretched out like this, not too much anyway, wants to feel it when Craig finally feeds him his cock.

 _"Ah!"_ Kyle hisses when Craig's fingers suddenly jam up into his prostate. There's rustling on the other side of the bed, followed by the sound of metal clinking as Ginger stretches and shakes. Kyle is disappointed when Craig's fingers are pulled out of his ass without warning.

"Shit. I forgot the dog was in here," Craig says, more to himself than to Kyle. He gets off the bed and calls Ginger after him, shooing Ginger out of the room and into the hall. Even though Ginger is Craig's dog, Ginger always whines and nips at Craig whenever he and Kyle are getting intimate, especially whenever Craig gets a bit rough. Ginger is very protective of Kyle, which Kyle finds ironic, because he's pretty sure that Craig is one of the last people who'd ever seriously try to hurt him.

"Mm. No more," he slurs when Craig tries to pick up from where he'd left off once the dog is locked out the room and Craig's back between his thighs. "That's enough."

"I barely opened you up," Craig says.

"Yes you did. Come on," Kyle assures him. "I want the real thing."

Craig sighs. He pulls off his own underwear and tosses them toward the dirty clothes hamper in the corner of the bedroom, then reaches back over to sift through Kyle's nightstand again. Kyle doesn't know what Craig could possibly need when the lube is right there on the bed next to them. "Hurry up," he whines, pushing his ass back against Craig's heavy length. When he hears the familiar crinkle of foil, he whips his head around to find Craig struggling to tear open a condom. "What's that?" he asks, though what he really means is _what the hell are you doing?_

"Condom."

"Why?"

"Because you complained last time," Craig tells him, referring back to the night in the laundry room. Kyle rolls his eyes and turns half onto his side, thoroughly done with Craig's bullshit.

"Yeah, because I didn't want to walk around in public with cum in my ass!"

"Well you're probably not gonna have time for a shower, so I'm only doing what's best. Excuse me for being the sensible one while your brain's filled with nothing but dick."

"I don't care about that! Stop worrying about me and just fuck me already!" Kyle practically shouts, pulling his asscheeks apart for emphasis.

"What happened to just wanting to squeeze around me?"

 _"Craig!"_

Condom having been snatched away and thrown somewhere across the room, Craig accepts defeat and slicks his raw cock with extra lube before lining up to Kyle's twitching hole and giving the pushy redhead what he wants.

Kyle moans as Craig sinks into him slowly, inch by inch. He comes to a stop once he's fully seated in Kyle. Kyle simply lies there, content, clenching and unclenching around Craig as he savors the feeling. He loves Craig's length; loves how it reaches all the right spots and makes him feel full; loves knowing that he'd managed to take all of it when Craig's balls are smashed up against his ass; and right now, all Kyle wants is for Craig to just stay inside of him like this forever. After about a minute, though, Craig starts up a slow and steady rhythm, pulling out nearly all the way until the head of his cock catches on Kyle's hole, then pushing back in in long, unhurried strokes. Kyle does not complain.

"Faster," he demands once Craig's leisurely pace eventually starts to lose his interest.

"So much for me not having to do anything," Craig grumbles.

Kyle hums. "Should've just let me ride you from the beginning," he says, eyes closed, smirking into the crook of his arm. Craig scoffs, but he picks up the pace, albeit in a purposely-labored and boringly-repetitive sort of way that Kyle can only interpret as Craig trying to passive-aggressively let him know that he's not enjoying this. But despite his attempts to make it seem as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, it's not long until Craig succumbs to the tight, wet heat of Kyle's ass and starts putting actual effort into his thrusts, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on Kyle's hips as he pushes and pulls Kyle along with him, using Kyle like a sheathe for his cock. Kyle relishes in the sound of Craig's balls slapping against him with every powerful thrust.

"Yeah, give me your cock. Make me take it," Kyle moans, arching his back. Craig only grunts in response. He's quiet in bed, isn't as talkative as Kyle would prefer, except for on the rare occasion; and even then he still doesn't have much to say unless prompted first.

Kyle props himself up on his elbows and looks back over his shoulder. Craig's eyes are focused on where they're connected, watching, breathing heavily through parted lips. "Do you like that?" Kyle asks, bearing down on Craig's dick just as he starts to pull out, keeping him in place. Craig hisses and screws his eyes shut. "Does my ass feel good?"

 _"Fuck._ Yeah," Craig breathes.

"Am I tight?"

"Uh-huh."

"Say it, then." Kyle pushes back; squeezes as hard as he can. "Tell me."

 _"Shit—_ Kyle, that's—"

"Tell me I'm tight and that you love fucking my ass."

"Wha—" Craig stills his hips. He looks up. "What the hell is with you tonight?"

Kyle groans, miserable from the loss of friction. He's not usually like this, isn't usually so shamelessly needy and demanding; but that dream had left him feeling desperate for not only Craig's dick, but apparently his validation as well. "I'm sorry, I just—fuck, Craig, you feel so good inside me. I just want you to feel good, too. But you're always so fucking quiet and I can't—I don't know—"

Craig sighs.

"Goddammit, Kyle." He drops to his hands, caging Kyle in and forcing him back down to the mattress as he starts fucking him again, slower this time but with deeper strokes that leave Kyle a shivering mess beneath him. He leans down next to Kyle's ear.

"You're always tight," Craig tells him. "Always so fucking tight, makes it hard for me to think. Especially when you— _yeah,_ just like that. That's it."

Kyle is too far gone to even process Craig's once sought-after words of praise. Sandwiched between Craig and the mattress, every intense snap of Craig's hips at this angle has him dragging roughly against Kyle's prostate, making Kyle gasp and clench up out of reflex. "So good," he slurs into his bunched up pillow. "So good, Craig, I love it."

"Fuck, Kyle, you keep doing that and I'm not gonna have time to pull out."

"Don't pull out," Kyle pants. "Cum inside."

"What about—?"

 _"I don't care."_ He's delirious at this point, drunk off the feeling of Craig's dick slamming into his prostate repeatedly, his own still-sensitive cock rubbing against the cotton bed sheets each time Craig ruts against him like a dog in heat. "Just cum inside me— _please_ , I-I need it," he begs, on the verge of tears. The words tumble out of his mouth before his brain can filter them. "Need you to fill me up, want to feel you deep inside me. Please, Craig, I-I love it—I love your cock, I love _you,_ just— _please, cum inside."_

Kyle nearly sobs when Craig suddenly pulls out.

"Turn around," Craig orders.

"Craig, _please—!"_

"I said turn around," he repeats, ignoring Kyle's desperate pleas and reaching to help roll him over onto his back. He wedges himself between Kyle's spread thighs and gathers him up into his arms. "Come here."

Kyle doesn't know how to react when Craig pushes back in. There's something different about the way Craig grinds into him; slow and deep, with a seemingly newfound purpose; and for some reason, his shameless begging for cum and cock feel suddenly out of place. Maybe it's the inherently intimate position, or how those always so hard-to-read blue eyes are searing holes into his own lust-filled green—Kyle isn't sure. He pulls Craig down by the back of the neck, knocking their foreheads together to avoid suffocating under his stare, but only finds that this makes it much worse when Craig doesn't look away. Kyle closes his eyes and turns his head.

"I'm gonna give you what you want," Craig whispers, voice low and steady. His breath is hot against Kyle's cheek. "Gonna fill you up. Give you my cum." It doesn't sound nearly as filthy as much as it does a promise made in earnest, but it makes Kyle's dick throb anyway.

 _"God,_ yes. I've been so empty this past week, been wanting you so bad—"

"I'm sorry." Craig noses at his temple, shushing him gently. "I'm gonna make it up to you, okay? You'll be so full. I promise."

Kyle whines. He doesn't know where all this is coming from but it's going to kill him; the thought of going to work with Craig's seed deep inside of him, uncomfortably full and leaking as he talks to his clients, his coworkers, _his father,_ as if he isn't currently stuffed up and dripping with the load Craig had fucked into him just hours before, marking him. If Kyle were of a more sound state of mind right now he'd realize just how horrible of an idea that actually is; would remember that he hates having to deal with cum leaking out of his ass when he's trying to actually go about his day and be productive and that they use condoms _for that exact reason;_ but at this moment, logic is the farthest thing from his mind.

Kyle feels the cool breeze from the floor fan ghost over his sweat-slicked chest when Craig leans back for a moment, looking down between their bodies when Kyle angles his hips, trying to grind his length against Craig's stomach in a weak attempt to feel some friction. It's still pretty dark in their bedroom, but Kyle can make out the slight crease in Craig's brow. "You're hard again," he says plainly.

"I'm sorry—I just—"

"No. It's okay." Craig takes him into his hand, thumbing the underside of his shaft. "You don't—" He pauses. Sighs. "You don't have to be sorry."

"Don't—!" Kyle hisses and shudders when Craig runs his thumb over the head, red and rubbed-raw from constantly being dragged across the sheets. Craig stops and looks at him. "The tip," Kyle explains. "It's—still kind of sensitive."

Craig nods and readjusts his hand, grabbing Kyle a bit lower and with a looser grip before starting to work him in slow, purposeful strokes. Kyle's orgasm isn't as powerful as his first had been, and there's hardly anything to show for it, but he still holds his breath and curls his toes when it begins to rack through him.

Craig momentarily pulls back from sucking bruises into Kyle's neck to watch him explode, milking the small amount of cum that dribbles out into a puddle on his stomach. He drags his thumb through it and brings it to Kyle's mouth, smearing it along his bottom lip, before licking his own and catching Kyle's in a wet, languid kiss. Kyle doesn't particularly enjoy tasting himself on his tongue—he finds it pretty gross, if he were being completely honest—but two consecutive mind-blowing orgasms after almost a week spent in agonizing chastity has left him feeling boneless and exhausted, ready for sleep; so he indulges Craig and lets him lick into his mouth without complaint as he rocks toward his own release with bated breath.

When Kyle suddenly gasps and clenches around Craig out of reflex after a particularly enthusiastic roll of his hips, Craig's breath catches in his throat. He tears himself away from Kyle's mouth and buries his face into Kyle's shoulder, shoving forward with short, frantic thrusts; and when he comes he does so silently, save for a strained grunt, his jagged canines scraping weakly across skin. Kyle pulls him flush to his chest as he rides out his orgasm, making good on his earlier promises. They lay there like that afterwards, bodies glued together with sweat as they come back down to Earth, neither one of them making any attempt to move.

The first signs of daybreak had begun to illuminate the curtains, and the rain that was once a light drizzle had long since grown into a heavy downpour. Kyle closes his eyes. He's tired, ready to fall asleep, probably _could_ fall asleep, even like this with Craig still buried deep inside of him and his soft breath tickling the skin beneath his ear. He lets his hands slide down from Craig's shoulders to wrap loosely around his back and hums. Kyle is not a morning person in any sense of the word, but it's kind of hard not to be one when your stoic, 6'3'' boyfriend has his face tucked into your neck like a child.

"I think she wants back in," Kyle murmurs jokingly into Craig's shoulder when Ginger starts pawing at the door. He feels Craig hesitate in consideration, then a hot puff of air when he sighs before slowly peeling himself away from Kyle's cum-messed stomach. Kyle shivers when he pulls out.

As soon as Craig cracks the door open, Ginger bombards her way in past his legs and dashes toward the bed. Kyle sits up and braces for impact.

"Well, good morning to you, too!" He laughs as Ginger frantically examines him, making sure that he's all in one piece. He turns his head when she goes to lick his mouth; Craig calls them "kisses." Kyle calls them gross. "Where's Craig? Huh? Where'd your dad go?" he asks, noticing that Craig had left the room. He scratches her back as she wags her tail in response; her fur is soft and she smells nice since Craig had given her a bath a couple days ago. The shampoo Craig buys for Ginger is more expensive than what he buys for himself, which Kyle finds ridiculous.

"Here."

Kyle looks up just in time to catch a damp rag being thrown his way. Craig is already cleaned up and pulling on a fresh pair of underwear. He gives Ginger one of those sweet potato & salmon natural dog treats—also more expensive than Kyle can justify—that he gets from the boutique pet shop two towns over before crawling back into bed.

"I knew you loved me," Kyle says as he wipes his stomach and the inside of his thighs clean. Craig huffs as he turns onto his side, away from Kyle, and pulls the blanket up over his shoulder.

"If I didn't love you I wouldn't have woken up dead out of my sleep to suck your dick."

Kyle chuckles. "Then you must _really_ love me since you—"

"Whatever."

Kyle frowns. He doesn't understand what happened to the Craig from earlier; the one who'd so sweetly promised to fill him up and who had practically fallen asleep on top of him afterwards. He feels like he's back at square one, laying there as he stares at the back of Craig's head, except this time he'd been hoping that they'd get back to being wrapped up in each other's arms like they'd been just moments ago, although maybe in a more comfortable position.

Kyle swallows his pride and decides to take a chance. He scoots over, out of the wet spot, and cuddles up to Craig's back.

"Well, thanks. For loving me, I mean—not for sucking my dick," he says, painfully aware of how stupid he must sound. He feels Craig tense against him. "Although thanks for that too, I guess. And… everything else."

Craig sighs and turns around.

"Don't do that."

"Don't—?"

"Stop."

Kyle scowls. He goes to roll over but Craig stops him with a hand cupped to his cheek, keeping him in place. His face heats up, both out of anger and embarrassment, as he's forced to lay there under Craig's clinical gaze in silence. Kyle stares back contemptuously.

"You're not a burden," Craig tells him, and Kyle instantly deflates. He knows that tone. There's no room for discussion. This isn't something up for debate. And even if it were, Craig would have no interest in hearing whatever it is that Kyle might have to argue. For one of the few times in his life, Kyle doesn't feel the need to. "You know that. Right?"

"I know."

 _"Do_ you?"

Kyle nods. He does. Even though sometimes he might feel like one, he knows for a fact that he isn't, because Craig—despite his unpleasantries, of which there are quite a few—always makes sure to show him that he cares in one way or another. Sometimes Kyle might take the insensitive things he says or does a little too personal, but that's just how Craig is; he doesn't particularly mean anything by it. Kyle, on the other hand, has a bit of a history of saying cruel and hurtful things with the sole intention of upsetting Craig when he's angry, so he doesn't have much room to talk. But Craig—who keeps their apartment clean and makes breakfast almost every morning and washes his clothes and has never once complained about the ink stains in the breast pockets of his button-downs—has never given Kyle a reason to believe that he might actually be a burden.

Craig's hand slides down from Kyle's cheek to his side, where he rubs along Kyle's ribs with his thumb. "Do you feel better?" he asks gently. Kyle nods again. "Did I give you enough?"

Kyle hesitates, unsure of what he means. When Craig slides his hand further down to squeeze Kyle's thigh just below his ass, parting him slightly and making some of his release leak out, Kyle's cheeks heat up in understanding. He groans and buries his face into Craig's chest.

"I'll give you more when you get home tonight," Craig continues, voice low and breath humid against Kyle's ear. He grabs the hand that Kyle has curled up into a fist between them and pries his fingers open with his thumb. Kyle feels his heart jump into his throat when his hand is pulled down under the blanket to feel Craig through his underwear. "This is yours tonight, okay? You don't need to ask."

Kyle doesn't understand how Craig can possibly say such shameless things at a time like this without going red in the ears, but Kyle is rightfully embarrassed enough for the both of them. He nods, unable to speak, and pulls his hand back as if he'd been burned when Craig lets go. Craig chuckles quietly and wraps his arms around Kyle, pulling him even closer and resting his chin on Kyle's head.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier," Kyle says after some time has passed and he's able to think clearly again once Craig has finished tormenting him. Craig hums curiously. "When I said I didn't know why I'm with you. I didn't mean that."

"…I know."

"I just—I hate having to _ask."_

"I know. I'm sorry."

"And sometimes lately it feels like you don't even want me," Kyle continues, even though every part of his brain is telling him to shut up; he talks too much when he's tired. "Like the other night, when I came out of the shower? And I told you that I'd—you know. That I'd gotten myself ready—"

"Kyle."

"—but you were so busy working on something for that stupid art class that you didn't even _look_ at me. You didn't even notice that I was wearing your shirt, did you?"

"Kyle."

"Well? Did you?"

 _"Kyle."_

Kyle sighs, realizing just how pathetic he must sound right now. He knows it's not that Craig doesn't want him. Craig's sex drive has always been considerably lower than his own, having settled once puberty had finished coursing its way through him and running his hormones amuck; even as a brace-faced teenager, Craig was hardly ever the one who'd initiate anything more than mutual masturbation while making out. And now Craig's been so tied up with this new class of his that Kyle's found himself actually _jealous_ of the sketchbook that Craig spends so much time working in while sitting up in bed late at night. Kyle has tried to take a peek at what's apparently so important that Craig absolutely _needs_ to be drawing when he should be sleeping instead, but Craig always catches him and snatches it away before he can even flip to the first page. Why Craig is so secretive about that damned sketchbook, Kyle doesn't know, but he doesn't like it.

"I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous."

"You are."

"I'm sitting here trying to apologize for being a dick, but I'm blaming you for something you didn't even do. Or, I guess you did, but it's not your fault? I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'm worrying about nothing."

"There's nothing for you to—"

"And, _god,_ I'm so sorry about waking you up and—everything _._ I can't believe I did that." Kyle closes his eyes and winces, the guilt starting to set in from how he'd acted earlier. "I shouldn't have done that. You told me no, but I wouldn't stop pushing you, and that's—that's just. That's _so shitty._ I'm sorry. I honestly don't know why you're not—"

Craig knocks his chin on Kyle's head. "Would you just drop it already?"

"Wha—" Kyle sputters. "I'm trying to _apologize,_ Craig!"

"Apology accepted. Now shut up."

Kyle is equal parts annoyed and relieved to hear this.

"…That dildo wouldn't tell me to shut up," he mumbles.

"Then maybe you should go cuddle with that instead," Craig tells him.

"I might."

Craig pulls away. "Do what you want. I don't care."

"Really? Because that didn't seem to be the case earlier."

"Only because McCormick gave it to you."

"Yeah, as a _joke."_

"Doesn't seem like a joke when you have it shoved up your ass."

"Well what the hell else am I going to do with it!"

"Here's a wild concept: not use the rubber dicks that your ex-boyfriend buys for you," Craig says bitterly.

 _"Oh my god,_ Craig. We dated for like, four months. _In high school,"_ Kyle says. "You know how Kenny is. He just likes to mess around. You're overreacting."

"I don't need my best friend buying my boyfriend rubber dicks," Craig says, fingers digging into Kyle's hip for emphasis. This would probably be the point where he'd say something like "That's my job," or "Not when you have me," if Craig were more talkative, but he leaves it at that.

Craig has always been a bit touchy when it comes to Kyle's past relationship with Kenny, which had taken place during the brief intermission between their own relationship when Kyle had broken up with him for the second—and last—time because he hadn't been expecting how complicated dating Craig would be. Except, as time would tell, it really wasn't complicated at all; it was actually quite simple once Kyle stopped overthinking everything. He just needed to learn how to understand Craig and his strange ways better, and Craig—well, Kyle would be lying if he didn't secretly enjoy watching him seethe with jealously during those months at their group's shared lunch table.

"It's not rubber, it's silicon."

"Good for you."

Kyle snorts. "I love you."

"Okay."

"Hey—you're supposed to say it back, asshole," he says, poking Craig hard in the chest and making him smirk. "Say it back or I'm never telling you that I love you again."

"That's fine."

 _"Craig."_

"Why should I say something that you already know?" he teases.

"Well maybe I _don't_ know."

"If you don't know that I love you then you really are a dumbass."

"Don't call me a dumbass!"

Craig laughs and throws an arm around Kyle, pulling him back in. Kyle struggles against him for a moment but ultimately gives in when Craig uses one of his many weaknesses against him, planting a trail of soft kisses along his jawline until he settles down with a quiet moan. Ginger barks at Craig during all of this.

"Relax, I'm not hurting him. See?" Craig talks to her like she's an adult human fully capable of understanding the English language. Ginger regards him as if he were the anti-Christ. "Jesus fuck, I'm not allowed to do anything with you around."

"At least _someone_ loves me," Kyle says.

"Yeah, at least."

Kyle head-butts Craig in the sternum.

Despite his often cold and detached demeanor, Craig is actually a very loving and caring person, and it especially shows with Ginger, who he spoils as if she were his own child. Craig is a great owner; probably would make a great father, too, if it ever came down to it. Kyle tries to keep from letting that thought wander too far before the calmness of the current situation is shattered from him bursting out into laughter at the thought of Craig, blank-faced, with a baby strapped to his chest. He saves it for later, though. Maybe. First he'll have to stop beating around the bush and actually accept one of Craig's less-than-spectacular but still strangely heartfelt in a Craig-sort-of-way proposals instead of always just telling him "We'll see," in an attempt to get some sort of reaction out of him—which, Kyle hardly succeeds at getting. Craig is patient to a fault, doesn't mind waiting if the past nine years hold any truth, and out of all the positive traits that Craig _does_ have, Kyle cannot say that he's the biggest fan of Craig's ability and willingness to outwait wedding rings. Of course, Kyle could always just ask _Craig,_ but where would be the fun in that?

Kyle groans when his alarm starts to blare. He begins to shuffle away toward his side of the bed to shut it off, but Craig reaches across him and beats him to it. He tugs Kyle back into his arms.

"Craig?"

"Go to sleep."

"But—"

"The office isn't going to burn down and your dad's not gonna care if you're a few hours late. And if he does, then tough shit. He can deal with me," Craig says. Kyle goes to argue but Craig shuts him up with a kiss. Kyle flushes from being caught off guard.

"You make it sound like you're going to fight him or something," he says, wiping his mouth.

Craig shrugs. "I will if I have to."

"Please don't punch my dad."

"I'm not making any promises."

The thought of Craig and his father duking it out in the parking lot over him is not as endearing to Kyle as Craig might think. Kyle's parents are already wary enough of their son's choice in a significant other, and lord knows that his mother does not need another reason to add to her already-lengthy list of reasons of why Craig Tucker is _a terrible choice, Kyle. What's gotten into you? Wouldn't you rather be with someone nicer and less dull?_

"Close your eyes. Try to get some rest," Craig says, dragging Kyle out of his thoughts. "I'll wake you up when breakfast is ready."

Kyle chews his lip. He knows he should seriously get up. It's still his first year practicing law as a bar certified lawyer, and he's got a lot to prove to his father and his fellow associates. But a lazy morning spent lying together in bed while the thunder rolls outside is so enticing, and it's not like he'll have an infinite supply of days like this in his lifetime.

"Pancakes?" he asks, sounding hopeful.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah. Blueberry. But only if we still have whipped cream left. If not, then omelets."

Craig nods. "I'll see what I can do."

Kyle tries not to think about how he definitely wouldn't rather be with someone nicer and less dull when Craig pushes his hair back and kisses his forehead, because if he does then he'll end up doing something stupid—like telling Craig that he loves him again, when Craig still has yet to say it back, even if he _has_ shown it tenfold. So he pulls the blanket up over them and tucks his face into Craig's chest, where he closes his eyes and listens to the heavy patter of rain against the windows. Coupled with the quiet hum of the floor fan and Craig's steady breathing, it's one of Kyle's most favorite things in the world, and it lulls him to sleep within minutes; even with Ginger curled up against the back of his legs, making him sweat.

Yeah. The office can wait.

* * *

 **AN:** Give me one good reason I shouldn't write a Craig/Kyle/Kenny threesome. Or some petplay. Mmm.


End file.
